


A Lazy Afternoon

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut, Teasing, shkinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-13
Updated: 2010-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson have an afternoon free of appointments or duties, so they entertain themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lazy Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/shkinkmeme/6327.html?thread=12930743#t12930743): _Watson and Holmes are having a lazy afternoon at home, no cases, no patients, just a chance to catch up on some reading and sleep. Then they share a look across the room and sex ensues. Yeah, I dunno... do what you want with this._

"You're making a mess," Watson observed languidly from his armchair. He was neglecting his reading in favor of watching Holmes wield his scissors and paste-pot against the horde of newspapers that had piled up during their exceedingly busy week.  
"When have I ever neglected to clean up?" Holmes retorted around the paste brush he held in his teeth as he carefully pressed a clipping into a volume of his commonplace book.

Watson's response was nothing more than a shrug as he attempted to return his attention to his novel and found his eyes falling closed instead. A nap was a fine idea, actually . . .

When he opened his eyes again the newspapers had been cleaned up and stacked by the fireplace, scissors and paste and book had been put away, and Holmes was prone on the settee, watching him. Watson could only return stare for stare at first as his mind struggled to throw off sleep; then he realized Holmes' gaze had a distinctly predatory air.

Quirking a smile, Watson raised his book and resumed the pretence of reading. Two could play this game.

Every minute or two he would turn the page -whether he had actually read the contents or not, which he hadn't, but he knew Holmes would see through the ruse if he never turned the pages- and dip the book just enough to see that Holmes' eyes were still fixed on him. On a certain part of him, to be precise. Watson flushed with what parts of his blood weren't rushing to that region and held his book a little higher. And crossed his legs, his right ankle up on his left knee.

"Your book is upside down, you know," Holmes pointed out after ten minutes had passed.

"Who says I can't read upside down?" Watson asked hotly, refusing to turn the book the right way up -that would be tantamount to admitting he'd been pretending the whole time.

"I never said you couldn't. But if that's the case, you're turning the pages the wrong direction."

Watson had to try it with his book before he understood and finally let the novel fall to his lap, blushing. "It would have worked," he muttered.

"Yes, you were remarkably convincing otherwise," Holmes allowed, shifting slightly on the cushions.

Both were silent for several long minutes, staring at each other but neither willing to make the first move. "Well?" Watson asked finally.

"Well what?" Holmes asked innocently.

Watson crumpled a piece of newspaper and threw it at him, bouncing it neatly off his rear. "Well, was there a point to the staring?"

"Does there have to be a point?"

"You always have a reason for what you do," Watson said with some exasperation. "But if you're going to be difficult, I'm really going to read my book." He picked it up -right side up this time- and opened it to the last page he remembered reading.

"Watson," Holmes said in his I-want-to-pound-you-through-the-mattress voice. "Come here."

"I fail to see why I must always be the one who has to move. Why don't you come to me for once?" Watson said, affecting a disinterested air even as his cock jumped from merely interested to very, very, very aroused.

"If you insist," Holmes replied, and pushed himself up from the settee.

Watson watched him over the edge of his book, his eyes widening as Holmes' trousers fell to the floor as soon as he stood and he realized Holmes was now entirely naked beneath his dressing gown. His book tumbled from nerveless fingers at Holmes' approach and he gulped, suddenly feeling hot and terribly overdressed.

Then thought was impossible as Holmes leaned over him, resting his hands on the arms of the chair, and started kissing him deeply, messily, fervently, frantically. It was rather astonishing what Holmes could do to him while hardly touching him, and this time was no exception.

When Watson finally felt Holmes' hands on him, they were tugging him, coaxing him up off his chair. To his surprise, all of his clothing had become unfastened, and Holmes now discarded it, piece by piece, all without allowing their mouths to part. Holmes even guided him to step out of his trousers as they kissed, and pressed flush against him to gently urge him backwards.

Holmes released the kiss when Watson felt a cushion behind his knees and he slumped onto the settee, dazed and out of breath. Holmes, too, was panting, already slicked with sweat. He straddled Watson and pressed their foreheads together as his shaking fingers skimmed down Watson's torso, then he gripped Watson's cock firmly as he penetrated himself with it.

Any objection Watson might have had about the lack of apparent preparation or lubrication were forestalled by the utter bliss of easily sinking deep into Holmes. He groaned, long and loud, and loved the way Holmes shivered at the sound.

Then he remembered why they were supposed to be quiet. His muscles tensed, and he hissed, "Holmes!" Before he could say anything more, a hand covered his mouth.

"Mrs. Hudson is out this afternoon. And yes, the door is locked. Any other objections?" Holmes murmured into his ear before nibbling on his earlobe.

Watson licked Holmes' hand in retaliation. "No," he managed, sounding strangled as Holmes lifted up and sank down upon him again.

Holmes laughed against his throat and lifted up again. But this time when he settled down, Watson canted his hips up to meet him, and Holmes made an incoherent noise of encouragement, his hands bruisingly tight on Watson's shoulders as he tried to remain in control of himself.

After a moment, Holmes resumed his vertical motion, and Watson arched to meet him again, using the time that Holmes was motionless in ecstasy to turn them so that Holmes ended up on his back on the settee with Watson pinning him down. When Holmes seemed confused by the sudden change in viewpoint, Watson said, "You weren't moving fast enough."

Watson thrust into him quickly and roughly; Holmes whimpered and cried out with each stroke, clutching his shoulders to bring him closer, closer. When Watson felt himself teetering on the brink and could tell from Holmes' expression that he was nearly there as well, he finally touched Holmes' cock, grasping it firmly and sliding his hand along its length once, then twice . . . Holmes threw his head back and orgasmed with a shout. Watson thrust once more before he reached his own peak and spilled deep inside Holmes.

Gasping was the only sound to be heard for several long minutes afterward, their sweating bodies beginning to cool in the absence of frantic motion. Watson had collapsed atop Holmes, his head on Holmes' shoulder, and at length he asked, "Did you ask Mrs. Hudson to go, or was she going to be out already?"

Holmes smiled, knowing Watson couldn't see his expression. "I can't imagine what you mean," he said, feigning disinterest with a yawn.

"You planned this, is what I mean," Watson said, raising himself up on his elbows to give Holmes an impatient look. "You locked the door, prepared yourself . . . you knew what we would end up doing."

"What I hoped we would be doing," Holmes corrected him, cupping Watson's cheek in his hand. "She mentioned she would be out, so I concocted a plan when you were napping. You really are quite fetching when you're asleep."

"But not when I'm awake," Watson said wryly.

"I wasn't going to say that," Holmes protested with a grin. "But if you insist . . ."

Watson pinched him, hard, and Holmes yelped, nearly throwing them both off the settee and onto the floor. "You could just ask next time, rather than resorting to the staring bit. It'd be much quicker that way."

"Asking is far less entertaining than watching you squirm," Holmes protested.

"Then perhaps next time I'll decide to spend the afternoon at the club rather than squirming for you," Watson retorted, grinding against Holmes to make sure his point was taken.

"Don't do that," Holmes pouted, stroking Watson's sides in apology.

"All right, I won't," Watson said with a sigh, kissing Holmes briefly, then slowly started to push himself off of Holmes, withdrawing from him carefully and standing with a groan. "I think I could use a bath," he mused, letting Holmes see him ogling his naked body. "You're welcome to join me, of course."

Holmes couldn't move fast enough to follow him.


End file.
